Lavender's Blue
by RobinRocks
Summary: USUK. The Suit Kingdom exists as a manufactured barrier between the bloodied human and dying fairy realms as the twentieth century slides ever closer to a second war. The story of a human king, his fairy queen and the worlds between them.


Reeeeally shouldn't be starting yet _another _multi-chapter Cardverse fic given that I started _Off With His Head_, wrote one chapter and then got distracted but my plan with this one is to make it a restricted mini-chapter fic, hopefully four parts at most. Maybe three if I can manage to cap my word-vomit. Probably ten because that's how I actually roll.

…T.T

This story, of course, has a heavy "fairytale" element in the sense that fairies and Fairyland exist and play an important part in the plot. It takes inspiration in part from Lord Dunsany's _The King of Elfland's Daughter _and from Edmund Spenser's _The Faerie Queene_ in addition to several lesser-spotted ideas about fairies from various European folklores. I also thought, to mix it up a little bit - since many takes on the Cardverse are set in faux/quasi-Medieval periods (usually unspecified exactly) - it would be fun to throw Cardverse in with the Roaring Twenties, the Dirty Thirties and the Grim-but-Glamorous Forties. :3

So we're square? We have fairies, playing card suites, swing music and art deco.

Oh, and the mandatory Cardverse wedding. We're all guilty of it (me especially). ;)

Lavender's Blue

Alfred was barely on the brink of memory when he first met his bride; he was small enough, at least, to be bundled into the arms of a boy a few years his elder (held at arm's length) and declared a good match to ensure the stability of the Suit Kingdom.

His betrothed was a fairy, a breed growing scarcer year by year; he had gossamer skin and eyes like cut jade, wild hair the colour of wheat and opalescent flakes of wings threaded delicately from his shoulder-blades. He was not very beautiful, not yet, but he would grow into beauty because all fairies did, all-in-all a fine thing for any human king to have on his arm. Alfred, of course, at that time did not care a whit for beauty and fairy blood, had no idea that one day he would share a marriage bed with his playmate; and Arthur, being a fairy, was by turns Alfred's best friend and his worst enemy, wearing out his wicked whims on the child's trust. If he was in a good mood, toys danced to life and four-poster beds became pirate ships on swelling seas; but if his mood soured, wicked creatures slithered from behind curtains and out of vases and doorways became gnarled passages to no-return-caverns. Such was the way of fairies, whose bodies could hold only one emotion at a time: when Arthur was cruel, he was very, very cruel. Nonetheless Alfred adored him and they grew in each other's company, their childhood passing through a war of the kind that their union was meant to prevent.

When Alfred was ten and the war was over, he was taken down into the Neither Lands to be trained properly, how to hold a sword and fire a gun, how to mobilise an army, how to create laws, how to fitly rule the House of Spades. Arthur was left behind; he was thirteen and on the cusp of blooming into an adult fairy, the kind that could kill, and was not a fit companion for forays such as these. For the first weeks, he seemed to drown in misery at Alfred's loss - but soon enough, and worryingly so, he appeared to lose interest in him altogether, preoccupied instead with growing out his wings. Where vanity crept in, he had no room in his heart for anything else - even his letters becoming clipped and sparse.

They were to be married - and thus begin their reign - upon Alfred's eighteenth birthday; and so his hands hardened over weapons for eight years with only the written words of his betrothed for company until they met again. He was human and fickle, forgetting most of Arthur, knowing him only by the single black-and-white photograph sent when Arthur was sixteen, learning the unhappy look in his grey-shaded eyes and the fragile captivity in his mouth. Fairies did not come willingly into the half-realm monarchies - they were sold into it, a single sacrifice for the rest of their shrinking kind. There was always a fairy queen in each house to hold the balance: Arthur for Spades, Kiku for Hearts, Lilli for Diamonds and Elizaveta for Clubs. They were never love-matches, for fairies were so very hard to win. Even Alfred, who had been Arthur's playmate as a child, did not expect Arthur to love him; as with emotions, fairies could love but one person at a time. For a fairy to offer their heart to their match, they had to no longer have any care for themselves (and, being such vain creatures, this did not come easily).

Still, Alfred had enjoyed Arthur as his playmate and hoped to do right by him, to at least earn back his friendship, on the occasion of their marriage; and, with clammy hands and a pulsing heart, strong-shouldered and handsome and every inch a birthling-king, he was brought back to the House of Spades on the night before his birthday. It was a quiet affair, the ceremony saved for tomorrow, just dinner with the small Spades court. There was a new Jack, Yao, an even rarer half-breed, who chatted to Alfred in a crisp, business-like manner about the wedding preparations. Alfred barely heard him, watching Arthur all the while, wondering vaguely how much of that childish cruelty still lurked in his fingertips. Ah, what Alfred wouldn't give for a den of thorns now, just he and Arthur with stolen candles and jewel-studded goblets of juice; he wanted to be alone with him, just them as when they were children, though he didn't suppose he would get much of a chance tonight.

Arthur was uninterested either way, barely eating before excusing himself and padding away barefoot, his gorgeous clothes and gossamer wings rustling after him. He did not spare Alfred even a glance.

It would be hard, that much was clear, but Alfred determined in that instant to have his heart.

* * *

Alfred lay in bed, sleepless, with the rinse of the moon on his wedding clothes; they were blurred at the edges and took on the shapeless bleach of a ghost because he wasn't wearing his glasses, a king's skin waiting for him to slip into and become. He had spent ten years in training for the coming day; he had known nothing all his life but that he would be the King of Spades, that he would marry Arthur when he was eighteen, that together they would be the next sacrifices to hold their small kingdom in its delicate balance between the human and fairy realms.

This wasn't Alfred's room. When they had been children, they had shared the master suite; on Alfred's departure, Arthur had had this all to himself. Come tomorrow night, Alfred would be permitted again, but for tonight - the tipping-point - he was in one of the smaller bedrooms, left alone with nothing but his wedding suit for company.

Arthur had not paid him much heed at dinner, though Alfred had quietly admired him across the table; his wings, fully-grown, had been tucked back but the rest of him was on display in the way that fairies made subtle shows of themselves. Of course, Alfred couldn't help but think of him as anything but beautiful: all fairies were. Perhaps that was all that mattered to them.

It was not all that mattered to Alfred.

* * *

Alfred's knuckles had barely scraped the wood of the door when the latch clicked and it creaked open ever-so-slightly. He hesitated, not wanting to simply barge into the room that had once been his - though the invitation was clear. A moment later, he heard Arthur give a silvery impatient sigh from within the chamber.

"Come in, Alfred," he called in soft tones.

Alfred did, giving a nervous swallow as he leaned back on the door to gently close it. He barely recognised the room, knowing only the same walls, the same contours. The décor was of the fashion, delicately wrought of spiralled metal and coloured glass in deep rich colours like red and purple and blue and teal. The bed was draped with violet hangings like a bower and Arthur was curled up against the mounds of embroidered and beaded pillows, reading by the light of the stain-glass lamp at the bedside. He lowered his book to his lap, looking at Alfred across the room, his eyes startlingly green. Alfred could see the translucent gloss of his wings against the blue bedsheets.

"You, uh…" Alfred cleared his throat, glancing around again. "You did a little redecorating, huh?"

"It was so drab before," Arthur replied boredly, looking down again. "And you drew on the walls."

"The wallpaper was peeling anyway," Alfred said defensively.

"Hence the redecorating." Arthur shrugged. "Besides, we are to be king and queen as of tomorrow. Oughtn't our room be fit for royalty?"

Alfred scrunched his nose, stepping further into the room.

"It's not what I would have picked," he said.

"You don't get to pick anything, Alfred." Arthur gave a little sigh, turning the page. "Neither of us do."

"I…" Alfred trailed off, looking sharply at him again. Arthur sensed his gaze and lifted his eyes once more.

"You shouldn't be in here," he said softly. "I'll be yours soon enough - but this is my last night of… of, well-"

"Freedom?" Alfred gave a little snort, crossing to the bed; his heels sank soundlessly into the carpet.

"Hmm." A cold smile on Arthur's part. "Hardly."

Alfred sat on the edge of the mattress, plucking his fingertips over the ripples in the sheets like lyre strings; oh, that they would sing tomorrow night…

"I just want to talk to you," he admitted, looking down at his lap. "It's been eight years. I barely… barely even remember you, Arthur."

"Nobody else seems to think that that matters."

"Well, I do." He put out his hand towards Arthur's - though the fairy withdrew it gently, inoffensively. "We're… we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, side-by-side, as… as king and queen and I…" Alfred looked down at his empty hand a little forlornly. "We don't _know _each other, at least… not anymore."

Arthur tilted his head, then gave a strange little nod and closed his book, putting it to the table; it glittered under the light, gold-lettered and jewel-studded. It was Edmund Spenser's _The Faerie Queene_.

Alfred quirked a smile, nodding at the book.

"Hoping for some pointers?"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"It's a favourite of mine," he said, "though it is human drivel, really - I must confess that I think Mr Spenser had never once set eyes on a real fairy. It is mere allegory and speaks in praise of Queen Elizabeth." He looked fondly at the book. "This one was hers. I do wonder what she thought of it. They were kinder then, you know, or so it seems. We were in their poetry as ready muses - Gloriana, Titania, Queen Mab. Men do not speak so freely of fairies now."

"The realms were merged back then, Arthur," Alfred admitted. "Industrialisation tore the rift between them - and the humans, well, they can't kill each other fast enough-"

"_You're _a human," Arthur interrupted softly, looking straight at him.

"I know," Alfred said, "but I've never walked among them, not really. They brought me up here when I was two years old. I spent eight years with you here and then eight in the Neither Lands in training - granted, my tutors were human but I've never truly been a part of their society."

"Do you wish you could be?" Arthur seemed genuinely interested, leaning a little bit closer; Alfred could see his silvery wings glinting. "You could have had a normal life if you hadn't been chosen."

"I don't know." Alfred gave a hopeless shrug. "I guess I don't know any other kind of life." He looked at the lamp for a moment, at the blue-and-green dragonflies weaved into fine glass. "…How about you?"

"I can still remember Fairyland." Arthur picked delicately at a bead.

"What was it like?"

"I can't describe it to you, not using human language." Arthur paused for a moment. "Perhaps, when I am yours, you will know."

"Do you wish you could go back?"

"Yes." Arthur sighed it. "Every day, every hour, every minute that I exist, I wish that I could return. I cannot explain it, Alfred - it is not that I'm unhappy but simply that I… do not belong here. Fairyland is wasting away, I know, but still I crave it."

Alfred nodded stiffly; he couldn't help but be a touch stung.

"You don't want to marry me," he said quietly.

"I don't want to have anything to do with any of this," Arthur replied calmly. "The humans, their weapons and their wars… But I like you, Alfred; we were companions in childhood and I will accept you without hesitation tomorrow, you have my word. I know my duty."

"Arthur," Alfred said firmly, snatching out and taking Arthur's small hand at long last into his own, "I will do my best to make you happy, I promise. I'll love you and I'll try my hardest to make you love me in return."

"That is most kind of you." Arthur took back his hand. "Now please, to bed. Tomorrow we may talk long into the night but for now you must go."

"Tomorrow night…" Alfred felt his pulse quicken a little at the thought of it. "Our wedding night."

Arthur, with hooded eyes, was quick to head him off:

"I shouldn't get too excited," he said, settling down under the sheets. "You have been robbed of conventional consummation activities in having a fairy for a bride."

"Yeah," Alfred sighed. "I suppose… there's not much need of it."

"Consummation is a human law and unions like this are still something of a taboo, frankly. Halflings are always rejected from Fairyland." Arthur sounded irritated. "My apologies."

"It's alright." Alfred clasped his hands together and sighed. "It's not like I didn't know."

"Does it mean that much to you?"

"I don't know." Alfred gave an awkward shrug. "It's not like I know what… what it feels like."

Arthur didn't answer, though he pulled the covers over his head. Alfred sat quietly for a moment, looking at him.

"Hey," he said softly, "Arthur, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset; just puzzled." Arthur shifted under the covers. "I suppose you can't help it - it's a basic instinct of humans. But you've always confused me, Alfred. You seem to feel so many different things at once."

Alfred laughed.

"It's a human thing," he said, glad to get away from the sore subject of the sexless marriage.

"I do think it's awfully silly of you," Arthur replied primly. "Now go away."

"Can I see your wings? They were just little stubby things last time I saw them."

"No. You'll see them tomorrow." Arthur pulled the covers up over his head. "And don't be so rude."

Silence. Alfred shifted on the bed, clasping and unclasping his sticky hands. He didn't go anywhere.

"It's not very romantic, is it?" he muttered. "None of it. Not just the sex thing, I mean… I didn't even propose to you."

"It's practical," came Arthur's mumbled reply. "You can't expect fairies to make sensible decisions."

"But you wanted to be courted properly, I'd wager." Alfred looked at the glowing book beneath the lamp. "Like Edmund Spenser's ladies."

"I'm not a lady."

"But you're a fairy," Alfred sighed, "and tomorrow you will be a queen."

"And who are you?" Arthur was interested, surfacing again. His gold hair was wild around his white face. "Hardly Prince Arthur - I quite think that that belongs to me. I am Arthur and Gloriana both." He tilted his head, looking at Alfred hard. "Perhaps the Redcrosse Knight?"

Alfred smiled.

"Is he a good person to be?"

"Of course - he is later revealed to be St George of Elizabeth's Golden England." Arthur preened unconsciously at his hair as he spoke. "Prince Arthur is fickle and untrustworthy, I think; legend would have you know that he weds Guinevere but in _The Faerie Queene_, he is quite determined in his pursuit of Gloriana. Redcrosse has his flaws and he falls to evil on occasion but he is the Knight of Holiness and is, of course, England's saint and Elizabeth's champion."

Arthur put out the hand that, tomorrow, Alfred would slip a ring onto; Alfred took it, feeling Arthur's paper-thin pulse against his palm. Fairies had much faster heartbeats than humans.

"Now, now, sir knight," Arthur trilled as Alfred kissed the back of his hand, "show what you be; add faith unto your force and be not faint."

* * *

Once there had not been such a divide between the human and fairy realms; they had co-existed comfortably with occasional crossings between the two. Fairies, of course, could be dangerous creatures, long reputed for stealing away babies and young maidens when the mood took them, luring any humans which took their fancy into the folds of their world with the promises of glorious food and wondrous revelry, but this had been an occupational hazard of living in those antiquated times. There had never been any cause to doubt that fairies existed, after all.

But then came the advent of the Industrial Revolution and humans, enchanted by their own witchery, began to dismiss the fairy-folk as make-believe, embroidery upon the understanding of a world without invention. Where humans had machines, they had no use for fairies; and where they had weapons to wipe out thousands, they had no need of kidnappings. The Great War, which had propelled the humans into a frightening new age of mechanised and massive slaughter, had purported a singular sloughing-off of Medieval awe which was disastrous to the fairies, whose land required belief in it to exist. Their ecosystem began to die and, with it, their vast numbers; and though the fairies dwindled, the divide between the human and fairy realms grew palpable and destructive, a thick decaying line which killed and rotted all that it touched. These wastelands were named the Neither Lands, a sparse collection of gnarled bones of forests and rivers, of valleys and towns and mountains, hollowed-out hills with no echo. Few survived out there - but their hardship became the test and training grounds for Suit Kings.

Ah, and as to the Suit Kingdom, it was not steeped in rich heritage or history, but rather was a new invention, as decreed by the Divide Declaration of 1854. It was designed as a barrier between the human and fairy lands to stop them coming together and destroying one another - there had never been a war between the worlds, though it seemed that they were ever on the brink of one. The Suit Kingdom was a collection of four fortresses built by human engineering and protected by fairy magic - one of the last acts of collaboration between the two. At the head of each of the houses, named for playing card suits, was always a human King, a fairy Queen and a half-breed Jack. The Jack did most of the work, acting as an ambassador in relations between the worlds. The King, who was trained to fight, was in charge of peacekeeping and ensuring that any wars the humans might engage in did not cross into the fairy world and disturb what was left of it. The Queen did very little but was essential to placating the fairies, who might otherwise failed to trust the implementation of the Suit Kingdom. Naturally, queens were supposed to bear heirs but fairies so often miscarried, even with half-breed offspring, that this was not a realistic expectation: no living heir had ever been born to any of the fairy queens in any of the houses before now and, as such, the next king, queen and jack were always chosen by hand. To that end, the king and queen were discouraged from having interbreed relations.

Life in the House of Spades, which was little more than a name, was lonely and isolated. The court was merely a group of come-and-go humans with various job titles and the fortresses had little ground (though what they did have was beautiful and well-cared-for); kings and jacks could leave the allotted "kingdom" only on business and queens were not permitted to leave at all. The décor was lavish, of course, and the lifestyle was comfortable, mimicking the fashions of the human high classes, but it lacked a sense of society. It was a frontier that held fast and shackled all those, human and fairy alike, who came to care for it. It turned to each house and accepted their sacrifices for its upkeep.

And now, this morning, it all depended on whether or not Alfred could convince Arthur to love him.

* * *

It was a beautiful day, at least; the sun slanted in through the open windows as Alfred bathed and readied himself for his wedding clothes. The water was heavily perfumed, scattered with bright splotches of petals, and made him think of June marriages from centuries before where the brides and bridegrooms wed soon after their river baths. Still a tradition, then, but it was not his history; he had been taken from the country they called the United States of America, though he could not remember it.

Yao came in to help him dress; the wedding suit was fancier and fiddlier than he would have liked, beautifully-cut and well-finished, white with royal blue accents and gold-flourished spades. Yao was still dressed casually and explained that he had yet to help Arthur dress, after which he would attend to himself.

Yao had a curt, professional manner about him and did not speak much; as a half-breed, he did not have wings, though his skin had the same unearthly tint as Arthur's. Alfred fretted about him for a little while - there were so many rules about engaging with fairies and he wasn't sure if they applied to half-breeds, too.

"Yao," he said at length as Yao deftly did up the long stream of tiny enamelled buttons at the back of his tunic. "I, um… I wanted to ask, you know, if it's okay to… to, uh-"

"You can thank me," Yao interrupted calmly. "I won't be offended if you do."

"Heh." Alfred gave a weak laugh. "Fairies are weird, aren't they? Humans are offended if you _don't _thank them, which makes total sense, but fairies…"

"To say 'thank you' is to acknowledge a good deed performed for you and to put it aside," Yao said emotionlessly. "Thanking, to a fairy, seems as though you think you are repaying the debt with the word only."

"Well, I know it offends Arthur," Alfred muttered. "I used to forget all the time when we were little and he'd get revenge by doing something horrible to me later." He tapped thoughtfully at his chin. "Uh, let's see, can I take any food you offer me?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good, because…" Alfred gave an uneasy laugh. "Sometimes I forget and so does Arthur, or at least we used to, and I'd end up having to slap whatever it was onto the floor." He sighed. "I always thought it was just fairy food or drinks but I actually can't accept _anything _he offers me. Well, I guess it stops me thanking him, though…"

"Well," Yao said dryly, adjusting Alfred's rich blue cloak, "you have my word that anything _I _offer you, at least, won't put you into an ageless sleep for a century."

"Good stuff. How are you on keeping promises?"

"Fickle at best, Your Highness." Yao actually smiled. "I'm really more human than I am fae, I confess."

"I figured you were some sort of insider - you know, being half-fairy."

"Well, I suppose that might be true."

"Good." Alfred exhaled, looking at himself in the mirror; primped-up in pearls and silk, perfectly ready to be crowned, after eight years of practicality and rough threads. "I think I'm going to need some help."

* * *

It was rather a small ceremony without much pomp and circumstance - the Suit Kingdom, being manufactured, hadn't enough heritage for orbs and sceptres, no history to pour into the shell of symbolism. Antonio, a priest in the House of Diamonds, conducted the wedding vows and the crowning was carried out by invited representatives from both the human and fairy realms. Though he had been preparing for this day all his life, Alfred found himself distracted by the gorgeous décor of the small stone chapel at the fringes of the House of Spades' grounds. It was usually a plain, drab structure, freezing in the winter because it had no glass in the windows, but today it had been done out in bursts of flowers and twists and turns of trailing ribbon in blue and white and gold; the sun glittered over the ornate accents, the tall brass candlesticks and the wedding bands and the crowns, plain with neat glowing studs of sapphire.

More distracting yet, Alfred found, was Arthur. He shouldn't have been so surprised, he knew - all fairies were uncannily, inhumanly beautiful - but he couldn't help but glance at him every thirty seconds or so, awestruck. It had been plain to see last night that Arthur had gotten a lot prettier since eleven years of age, even in his drab night garments, but today he looked nothing short of splendid. His wedding clothes were a tailored waistcoat and trousers and over these layer upon layer of silk and chiffon, watery blues and flowing violets and midnight skies, arranged and folded in the copied fashion of the Orient so favoured by the humans and pulled in at his tiny waist by a thick band of beaded blue velvet; it was gathered at the back so that it trailed after him like a train and his small hands drowned in those voluminous sleeves. His blonde hair had something of a soft curl to it, glowing under his crown, and his eyes were so very green that Alfred couldn't meet them and not be reminded that he was not remotely human in any way. Alfred's bride was indeed of no breed less than the Fair Folk.

Oh! and his wings, which Alfred at last saw properly upon Arthur's entrance to the chapel with a fairy elder at his side. They had been open, the sunlight rinsing finest gold through them, and he had seen then their long scalloped shape, their delicate veins and the array of pale colours in their membrane like stained-glass windows, the brilliant and natural shimmer of them far beyond what any human artistry could mimic. They had been painstakingly arrayed for the wedding, studded with brilliant jewels in all colours, too, which glinted like rainbow stars in the sun whenever they moved.

Even now, it seemed, humans were easy prey to fairies, who so often lured them away in this manner; Alfred, scarcely believing that such a magnificent creature was simply being handed over to him (though had known Arthur longer than he could remember and had known, too, that they would be wed), couldn't have said yes fast enough. He closed his hand around Arthur's as they sat at the edge of the altar and waited for the ceremony to end, his new crown heavy on his brow; Arthur smiled at him and laced their fingers together, glowing and happy, which Alfred met with relief. Fairies could not hide their feelings, for their bodies held but one single emotion at a time, and this was clear: whatever his attitude towards the House of Spades and his queenship, Arthur _had _wanted to marry him, he must have done, otherwise that smile could never have bargained its way onto his lips.

Ah, yes, Alfred understood well; happily-ever-afters were the manufacture of fairies, not of humans, for only fairies could know that singular sort of joy.

* * *

"Come with me." Arthur wound his arms around one of Alfred's, with a smirk stealing him away from his brow-furrowed conversation with Francis, King of Diamonds. "Alfred, my humble human king."

"Are we humans so humble, Arthur?" Francis asked dangerously; he took the edges of his amber cloak and bowed his head to the fairy. "Mind, your tongue is nowhere near as fair as your face."

"Nor are my intentions," Arthur said sweetly; he pulled more insistently at Alfred. "Alfred, _do _come."

Alfred had no choice but to nod to Francis, who arched his eyebrows in amusement, as Arthur firmly tugged him away. Night was setting in, deep blue bruising downwards to kiss pale purple at the horizon; the grounds of the Spades fortress were aglow with paper lanterns in the shape of the Suit's four emblems, orange pinpricks on the trees and in the sky like fireflies. The gold burnish of them flashed over the jewels arrayed carefully on Arthur's open wings, glossing on his flaxen hair and his crown and his wedding ring, too, as he scampered away with Alfred trotting obediently behind. The small crowd's chatter became like the lull of the ocean, distant and shell-captured, as they whispered away into the night. This had always been a favourite past-time of Arthur's - a bad habit of fairies - to grab Alfred's hand at dusk and pull him far away from all who might rescue him. This was their old route, down the gravel path and past the rosebushes with their sweet-blood musk thick on the summer air and onto the little stone bridge arching over the silver brook, this too lit with paper lamps. The high walls of the fortress were close to here, though it was a privacy and not the proximity that they had always valued most.

Arthur let go of Alfred's hand to hop up onto the crested wall of the bridge and pick his careful way over it, his delicate jewelled clothes flittering in echo of his every motion.

"We used to play down here," he sighed, pausing to look down at the brook giggling below. "With boats made out of folded paper, remember?"

"And the frogs you'd catch," Alfred agreed, folding his arms over one of the spires, "and turn into little soldiers."

"And the water-rats, don't forget." Arthur grinned down at him. "Opposing armies. Old, bitter rivals."

"At _your _command."

"Naturally." Arthur put out his hand for Alfred to help him down; Alfred couldn't help but hold onto him afterwards, arranged like a waltz pair. "Ah, back then when all this talk of kings and queens was simply…"

"Talk?"

"A song, I think." Arthur laid his head against Alfred's shoulder, exhaling. "The human one about lavender."

"Mmm." Alfred played his fingertips over the small of Arthur's back. "Well, all those things are ours now, Arthur; boats and armies and grand titles."

Arthur gave a snort, pulling back.

"Never mind that," he said. "Happy eighteenth birthday, Alfred."

Alfred smiled, tipping their foreheads together.

"You're the only person to say that to me, you know," he replied.

"Of course." Arthur's voice grew a little cold. "Today is about a lot more than a silly little teenaged boy's birthday. Our necks are squarely on the block now."

"Hey, don't be like that." Alfred touched his knuckles to Arthur's cheek, though the fairy was quick to turn his face away. "You looked… so happy earlier-"

"I am happy." Arthur looked at him again, reaching to squeeze Alfred's hand between both of his own. "But let's not forget why we're here, after all."

"Yeah, I know." Alfred swallowed, his mouth getting a little bit dry; he looked at Arthur's white hands clamped around his own, following the slender length of his arm up over elbow and shoulder and thin neck until he was looking at his face again, heart-shaped and moon-pale with those unearthly eyes. Something about him gave Alfred the creeps, it always had, but at the same time he couldn't help but absolutely worship him.

"Gee, you're really something to look at," he murmured. "It's like you fell out of a dream or something."

Arthur smirked.

"Edmund Spenser you are not," he replied, twisting away. His wings trailed after him in their fiery splendour, his hair akin, and he reached up to touch at his brow; this, like his species, was his way of thanking Alfred for the compliment. Fairies had absolutely no concept of humility.

"You think I'm beautiful," he went on lightly. "You think I'm the most splendid thing you've ever set eyes on, don't you, Alfred?"

"How could I not?" Alfred followed him, prowling and predatory, never letting him get more than a few steps ahead. "You were promised to me as such."

"Ha?" Arthur grinned at him. "How very shallow."

"Come off it, Arthur." Alfred paused as he watched Arthur get to the other end of the bridge and take three light steps down the bank to the water's lush pebbled edge; here the fairy leaned over to admire himself. "You know what you look like."

"Of course." Arthur gave a sigh and straightened up again. "We are the Fair Folk. We make beautiful brides and handsome husbands; humans used to forsake their souls to follow us into Fairyland."

"I would forsake mine to keep you," Alfred said, stepping closer to him.

"Don't say foolish things," Arthur replied coolly. "Humans are always so quick to give up their humanity. You understand that your souls are the only thing that separate your kind from fantastic dying breeds like mine. That's why human atrocity destroys everything in its path."

"I don't care about any of that," Alfred said earnestly. "Souls or war or your looks." He got close enough to seize Arthur's thin wrist. "Yes, you're beautiful but that's not why I love you."

"You've been away for eight years." Arthur looked at him with hooded eyes. "How can you know that you love me?"

Alfred smiled.

"Humans, huh… sometimes we just know."

"How typical." Arthur took back his hand and slipped off his new wedding ring, throwing it into the brook; his crown followed with a full-bodied splash. "A quest for you, sir knight; retrieve my gold belongings and I will reward you."

Alfred had read stories like this in his youth, fairies who tricked humans by weeping at riversides for lost treasures; Arthur, he assumed, was spitefully teasing him and he bowed low, playing along.

"As you wish, my fair queen."

He stepped into the brook, the water glimmering at his ankles, and sought out the flashes amongst the pebbles. He found the crown first, laying it in the grass at Arthur's feet, and went in search of the ring, which glowed like a goldfish and dashed away with the current, skipping defiantly over his fingers. He chased it downstream, terrified of losing it, and heard Arthur laugh as he finally surfaced with it clamped in his fist.

"Nearly lost it," Alfred grumbled, splashing back over to him.

"No, no, you performed your task well." Arthur had put his crown back on at a somewhat-skewed angle, still wet; he wiped the water from his brow and put out his hand for his ring.

"Don't do that again, I might not be able to find it next time." Alfred slipped his ring back on for him. "And my reward, o queen?"

"It's here." Arthur plucked up a lily and tossed it into the brook. "Fetch it."

Alfred scowled, growing impatient; fairies had such peculiar whims and Arthur, always, in particular.

"Arthur, I'm not fishing things out of the brook all night for your amusement," he said crossly.

"Just this last thing," Arthur implored. "Hurry - before it vanishes downstream!"

"Arthur-"

"_Hurry_!" Arthur pushed at him, sending him stumbling into the brook again with a splash.

Though he managed to keep his balance, Alfred was more than halfway soaked by now and quite irritated; Arthur was watching him from the bank, his green eyes very bright and interested. Alfred looked at him for a moment and at length realised that he could detect no malice in his behaviour - for he wore it plain on his sleeve - and gave in, sloshing after the lily as it dipped under the water. He stooped to grab it, finding that it evaded his grasp completely and seemed to have completely vanished amidst the pebbles.

"It's gone," Alfred huffed; he straightened and kicked at the water, starting when his boot came into clear contact without something that _clanged _heavily over the stones.

"I don't think you're looking hard enough," Arthur said lightly, prodding at a stripe-legged toad with a blade of grass. "Shall I bewitch this little fellow into a prince?"

"You're into your witchery tonight," Alfred said faintly, grasping the hilt of the splendid sword and lifting it from the brook. "You're showing off a bit."

"Oh?" Arthur pretended to pout, letting the toad dart away. "Do you not like it?" He steepled his thin fingers together and rested his chin upon them. "I thought it a fitting present - birthday, wedding and coronation all at once."

"It's… it's wonderful," Alfred said weakly, turning the beautiful blade over in his wet hands.

The cross-guard was bound about with deep blue velvet and the hilt was of woven gold, buffed to a brilliant shine and intricately etched with all manner of flowers, lilies and poppies and thorned roses, these being picked out at their most brilliant with blue jewels and imperfect pearls. The blade itself was like nothing he had ever seen before, long and straight and honed so finely that it sang on his palms - and perfectly transparent but for, in the flash of the rising moon, the breathe of dreams captured in its contours, magnificent colours which overturned like brook-bound pebbles and, of them, miniature battles most fantastic being fought. Ah, but when he blinked the tiny soldiers were gone and, with a desperate turn of the sword to catch their retreat, here he found a tiny dragon with glinting scales unfurling from its treasure-mound; and here a unicorn charging a knight with his ribboned lance.

"It's a fairy sword," Arthur said lazily, getting up. "Look after it."

"Oh, I will, I will." Alfred was still utterly fascinated by the gorgeous weapon, mulling over every tiny detail as he clambered back onto the bank. "I've never seen such an amazing sword."

"Humans are good swordsmiths," Arthur replied primly, "but fairies are better."

Alfred gave a snort, though grinned good-humouredly at him.

"Arthur," he said, "you really haven't changed one little bit, you know."

"Well, unfortunately you're stuck with me now," Arthur sighed.

"That's alright with me." Holding his gift-sword carefully in open hand, Alfred reached for Arthur's with his free one, catching up his cold fingers. "I don't think I'd have it any other way."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Humans are so sentimental," he murmured.

"Oh? And what about you, huh? You were happy earlier, don't deny it."

"Happiness and sentimentality aren't the same thing."

"Well, then, I'm both. I'm so happy right now and I'm sentimental as hell all the damn time." Alfred beamed. "Because I missed you those eight years, Arthur. I really did."

"Alfred-"

"And this sword…" Alfred looked down at it delightedly, breathing out. "Yes, I know about fairy swords, how powerful they are, how they can cut down castles, but _you _gave it to me, Arthur, and _that's _what matters most to me. I will treasure it, you have my word."

Arthur was very quiet for a long moment, looking up towards the lamplit castle far over the little bridge. For a brief moment, it seemed, his scornful self-righteousness that came so naturally to him (being beyond humanity in whichever direction) had completely vanished and without it he seemed vulnerable and lost and almost human.

"Did you truly… miss me?" he asked, looking at Alfred. He frowned a little, his brow creasing, as though he was struggling to make sense of the concept. "I was frightfully cruel to you at times."

"You were young."

"No." Arthur shook his head. "I was me. I was a fairy. Even now, I don't feel regret over my wickedest games with you." He paused, his shoulders sagging. "I cannot regret such things - and I do not expect any _number _of enchanted swords to be a substitutes for my kindness. I am a most unpleasant creature, I'm afraid."

Alfred simply smiled at him. He could do nothing but.

"I missed you all the same," he said gently.

Arthur wouldn't meet his gaze, fidgeting with his hair. His crown was slipping lower over his brow, giving him the look of a child trying on things far too big for him. Alfred adored him; he didn't know why but, as with his akin unsettlement, he always had. Arthur was a strange hybrid of fascination and trepidation and Alfred did not regret signing himself away to him.

He wanted Arthur to know that.

"As it _is _our wedding night," Alfred went on softly, "_and _my eighteenth birthday… would it be alright if I kissed you?"

Arthur looked guardedly, sharply, at him for a moment as though he didn't entirely trust him; but, on seeing Alfred's sincerity, relaxed and responded in a manner somewhat akin to a peacock, opening out his wings with their slipping jewelled decorations as Alfred pulled him close.

"How dreadfully human," he muttered.

Alfred laughed and kissed him, wrapping him tightly in his embrace; Arthur stood rather rigidly in his arms for a moment but at length unfurled himself, touching his fingertips to Alfred's face. Alfred laughed breathlessly into his hair when they separated.

"Of course it's human," he sighed. "You married one, o fairy queen."

"Well, try not to forget what I am," Arthur murmured, nuzzling against Alfred's neck. "And, I beg you, don't let _me _forget either."

* * *

Too bad, Alfred; no fun wedding night hi-jinks for you. :C

The idea of fairies only being able to have one emotion at a time stems from folklore but was used to best effect by J. M. Barrie in _Peter Pan_; his reasoning for the behaviour of Tinkerbell, notoriously jealous of Wendy to the extent that she tries on several attempts to actually _kill _her, was that Tinkerbell's body was so small that she could only play host to one emotion at a time. Therefore, when Tinkerbell felt envy towards Wendy, she had nothing to counterbalance it the way humans do; no sense of kindness, remorse or, indeed, what kind of behaviour is actually acceptable.

Btw, I completely forgot to mention when I posted _Nylon _that, due to the Purge of Filth here on FFNet, I went and got myself a tumblr so, in case I get deleted, I can be like 'Hey I got deleted' on tumblr and people will know. Though I should think that my being deleted would speak for itself but there we are…

So yes! tumblr! And also AO3. There are (what I laughably refer to as) links on my profile. How very exciting. But, basically, if I get booted off FFNet, you can still find me, hahaha.

(Though I have to say, I have been incredibly lucky with this purge so far! Considering something like 69,000 fics got removed - or so I heard - and a lot of them were _Hetalia _smut, to have not been touched at all is something of a miracle. O.o)


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